


Of Games and Life and Stuff

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-01
Updated: 2009-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney has a bad day, and never underestimate the therapeutic value of a simple kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Games and Life and Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> written for mcsmooch - tag to Quarantine

Spoilers: for Quarantine  
Warnings: mention of Katie Brown and liberal use of golf terminology

John lifts his head into the cool ocean breeze, drawn across the room through the hastily taped broken window as the door to the lab opens. "Hey, just in time." He resets the golf game to a new course, two players, and looks over as Rodney sits down on the stool next to him. Rodney's shoulders slump forward and his face is shadowed with a look of utter dejection. Rodney doesn't say anything, just looks exhausted, but not his usual, pulling out all stops to save the day exhaustion. This is something different. This is more.

He hadn't seen Rodney since shutting down the self-destruct and getting things back on a somewhat even keel. Rodney had cloistered himself, working on some overwrite codes to the quarantine lockdown, tweaks to his previous tweaks. He'd even missed dinner. John pushes one of the controllers in his direction. "Just what you need after a day like today… a good trouncing." The tiniest hint of a smile edges up the corner of Rodney's mouth.

"And by that you mean _you're_ going to be the one doing the trouncing?"

"Sure as hell don't mean your Aunt Martha," John says evenly, tossing over a peanut butter/chocolate chip powerbar before lining up his first tee shot. Some of the shadows fade as Rodney tears open the wrapper. They play the first couple of holes in silence, each making par.

"So, you did remember my password," Rodney finally says as he snugs his fairway shot deep into the bunker to the left of the green.

John allows a little self-satisfied grin. "You're an open book, McKay." He watches as Rodney takes his third, fourth and fifth swings, the air abuzz with colorful metaphors. "If you'll just ease up—"

Rodney raises a hand. "Seriously, spare me, okay? Christ, leave it to a stupid computer game to epitomize my entire fucking day." He takes one more shot and leaves his ball a good eight feet from the pin. "Finally!"

John watches and waits for Rodney to sink his putt. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks, getting set for his next shot.

Rodney's breath hisses out like a slow escape of steam. "Do I have to?"

"No, of course not." John lands his ball at the top of the fairway and likes his chances for birdie. "Hey, what happened with Katie?" he asks, hoping to change the subject to something more pleasant. "What'd she say, did she like the ring?" He turns to Rodney. "Oh, and I promised you a beer." Rodney groans and tosses his controller down, which is not a good sign, and a little knot start to form in John's stomach. "Is that a no on the beer?"

"The thing is," Rodney replies wearily. "I didn't—we didn't exactly get around to—I really didn't ask, ask. Her, I mean. She only saw the ring because it fell out of my pocket when I was lying on the floor succumbing to the non-existent outbreak." He smushes his cheek into the palm of his hand and sighs. "I told her I was _going_ to ask her, but then I ended up telling her I'd changed my mind."

"You what? But Rodney, you left here on a cloud, you were—"

"I know, I know. But Katie is way too nice a person to be saddled with someone who lives a life of fear and worry… and despair," he says, wagging his finger, "let's not forget despair."

The knot in John's belly catches fire and rushes toward his lungs. "Did she say that?"

"No… well, not in so many words. Me. I said it. It's my job to anticipate the worst case scenario and be two steps ahead of it. And here in Pegasus, that had better be two pretty damn quick steps. And yes, I tend to view situations in the darkest way possible, because when you start at the bottom, there's only one way you can go, and if that makes me gloomy and fatalistic, then so be it. I can't—I just don't know how to be any other way."

Used to taking his lumps of reality, the kamikaze delivery of this little dose surprises even John the way it crashes and burns through his brain. _Rodney was not going to marry Katie_. Heat flushes the back of his neck as he tries to swallow down the weight of that realization. He rolls his stool a little closer and inches the controller back on Rodney's side of the table. "Your turn," he says quietly, and holds his breath until Rodney picks it up.

"And I'm too old to change. Even for—even for…" he trails off and works his fingers over the buttons.

John's heart beats faster. He watches Rodney try but fail to keep his next shot on the fairway, a hunger welling up inside him, threatening to overtake him. It's an urgent, perverse need that propels him out of his seat to brush his lips softly against Rodney's cheek. _You don't have to change for me,_ he wants to say, but he's back to his stool just as quickly, face warm and eyes a little unseeing, flooded with equal parts euphoria and horror at what he's just done.

Clearing his throat and his mind – hoping maybe Rodney didn't notice – he says something off-the-cuff, thinking he can gloss the whole thing over. "'s okay if you wanna take a Mulligan for that." Then he busies his hands with his controller. Rodney's stare is palpable. So much for not noticing. John licks his lips and waits.

"For the shot or for the kiss," Rodney says dimly, "because you—you did just kiss me, right?"

John tries to make his shrug casual, but it ends up kind of forced and jerky instead. "I meant the shot," he replies, pointing at the monitor and _not_ looking at Rodney.

"So you admit it." Rodney takes John's arm, turning him so he can't avoid Rodney's eyes or the confrontation. John looks at him blankly, his cheeks prickly hot. "As much of an admission as I'm likely to get from you, anyway," Rodney says, and that little glimmer of a smile tugging the edge of his mouth matches the little glimmer of hope cowering in the middle of John's chest.

Rodney peels John's fingers from the controller and sets it on the table next to his own. John's skin practically glows where Rodney had let his linger. "Am I to assume that was supposed to make me feel better… about Katie, about the whole damn lockdown, the self-destruct? Because I think it's going to take more than a peck on the cheek to make me forget this hellish day—not that I didn't like it mind you, just that—"

"I could try again." John worries his bottom lip with his teeth, then grins.

Rodney snorts a laugh and returns the smile, which chases away the last of the shadows and deepens the blue of his eyes. He rubs his palms over his thighs. "A do-over?"

John leans in and after a few seconds of deciding whose face goes at which angle, he traps Rodney's lips with his own, opening them slightly, then dragging them with more pressure as he pulls back. He grins a little as Rodney follows, not wanting to let go. "Better?" John asks, realizing he has a handful of Rodney's shirt.

Rodney's breath is warm and he smells like… well, like Rodney, and that feeds John's hope, gives him an all-is-right-with-the-world feeling. "Hmm, you know what," Rodney hums, "I've had a pretty crappy day. I think you better try again… but I warn you, you only get so many of these do-over thingys."

"Yeah?" John breathes back, their lips barely touching.

"Yeah," Rodney says, then sneaks a little kiss of his own. "Remind me to let you know when you've reached your limit."


End file.
